N39°6.8170′ – E67°51.2396′

10th August 2014       0km by bike
N39°6.8170′ – E67°51.2396′

After a good night’s rest by the river, I had a lazy morning, reading a book while having breakfast. I’d just finished my Nutella on bread, when the mother from the group camped nearby came over, looked at my meagre breakfast in surprise, and called to one of her daughters to bring me a shashlik.  Within seconds I had a lovely pork shashlik in my hands for breakfast.  Amazing Tajik hospitality again.

I continued reading my book, laying in the shade of the motorbike, inquisitive kids appearing every few minutes to just stare down at me.
When it started to get hot, I went and dunked in the icy cold lake, which cooled me down to the point of painful feet.

As lunchtime rolled around, I started pulling out my stove to make lunch, but had barely unwrapped it when mother reappeared again, this time with a massive plate of plov, which she placed in my hands.  It was enough to feed a family!  I worked through it slowly, maybe finishing only a quieter quarter of it. Plov is a rice based dish, stewed with chunks of meat, potatoes and spices, although often tend to be heavily oily. It is a staple in Tajikistan & Uzbekistan.
With the generous lunch demolished, I figured I should do some exercise, and walked the length of the lake on a narrow trail covered in scree. The views into the blue water and across the mountains were excellent.  There was a small mud brick village nestled in the far valley that made for great photos.
Returning on the trail back to my camp, I passed a group of guys, drinking and dancing beside their car.  They dragged me in to join them, and I danced by the lake to a few local tunes, although I can’t say I was all that comfortable. One shirtless guy insisted on trying to dance romantically, presumably the alcohol had taken its effect.  I took a few photos and said my goodbyes, walking another 50M before a man called out to me to join his family gathering.  They placed a huge pot of plum compot in my hands, which I drank from.  It was delicious.  He questioned me briefly in Russian, about where I was from?, what did I think of Tajikistan?, how old was I?, before he offered me the oldest of his four daughters.  Again uncomfortable, I excused myself and left.  He seemed offended, but I made no apology.

Back at my camp, I decided to relax again with my book under a small bush, the only bit of shade nearby.  Four kids came and looked over my shoulder at the text for 10 minutes, before being replaced by their father, who sat there for the next 30 minutes, watching me, and feeding himself with hash from a small packet.  He then disappeared and returned with a huge slice of watermelon for me.

Tajik hospitality again.

I went to do some small work fixing the chain guard on the bike, and a small crowd gathered to watch me, fixated.  By this time the large family that had been feeding me all day, had packed up and were preparing to leave, so we said goodbye with a few photos, and many thanks for their kind hospitality.

It was now quiet with the large group gone, and I had no more questions about “what is this?” Or kids trying to watch me change or do anything at all.  Two of them had even followed me to the toilet earlier in the day, and the peace was welcome.

I’d started to cook dinner when I heard a commotion about 80M away, where a group of a dozen guys were having a fight. It was getting pretty serious, one guy was beaten up pretty badly, and I debated if I should get out of the area.  The badly beaten guy was half conscious and stumbled into a families tent, sending all the women and girls screaming.  The fray continued amongst the rest of the guys, but now the father of the family joined in, first throwing large rocks at the group, then punches.  He retreated after a few minutes and returned with a huge scythe, swinging it madly while his wife threw rocks. This was getting seriously out of control, and the old man hit one of the guys on the back of the legs with the scythe, cutting him.  The badly beaten guy now stumbled over to my tent, blood streaming down his face and struggling to walk a straight line, his eyes rolling back in his head.  I asked him “ok?”. He just moaned and thankfully stumbled on past.

The fight was broken up by a big guy I hadn’t seen before, then everyone went looking for the bloodied guy, who had now disappeared.  One of the earlier protagonists came over to me wearing only his underwear, and asked where the beaten guy was.  Telling him I didn’t know, didn’t pacify him at all, but he left without further conflict.  Eventually everyone left and peace returned to the lakeside paradise.  What an afternoon.

I finished cooking dinner, washed up and retired to the tent as the sun went down.  Climbing into the sleeping bag, sunburnt as the temperature dropped again.  Roasting hot during the day, but cold at night.